A last happy birthday to a wonderful man

Yesterday was the 93rd birthday of a wonderful man.  It will be his last.  He is dying, quickly, of liver cancer.  He is dying without pain and in peace.  When his grandchildren and children approach his bed for a kiss and embrace, he says, "You are my treasure."  No dry eyes in the house.  He says to me, "You're my third son." 

Tonight I told him, "I haven't had a father since I last saw mine when I was eleven.  You're my father now." 

Later he said, "That was a high honour."

"I don't know about that.  But I'm honoured."

This is my companion, Ken's, father.  Seymour Krasney.  Intelligent, witty, risqué, a voracious reader, full of curiosity and always eager for the revelations of art.  Until just recently he insisted on riding the subway, scorning taxis as indulgences.  He went out three, four, five nights a week to concerts, plays, ballets, anything that would stimulate his heart and soul.  He read every book about the Supreme Court and the great issues of the day, every biography of great men.  He asked to die the way Sigmund Freud did, with a dose of morphine when the pain for the family grew too great. 

People have called from far and wide.  This evening a community centre in Jerusalem called and said they had heard he was ill.  They wished him love and God's protection and thanked him for the support he had given them. 

We'll all miss him.  Like my dear mother-in-law, Gert, who died last September, Seymour's a force of nature, an indelible personality.  Sometimes infuriating but always, finally, lovable and loving. 

Let's raise a glass.  Vodka and tonic, his favourite.  (As the late, great Joe E. Brown said, "Nobody's perfect.")

I'll miss him. 

Goodbye, old boy.  I hope -- but somehow doubt -- they'll perform Parsifal where you're going. 

Comments

[fredric koeppel]

what a grand and lovely tribute. you brought a tear to this eye this morning.

[DJR]

Hi, Terry--
It's a day for hommage, it seems...strange synchronicity?
Take a peek, when you can, at my rambling, somewhat off-topic
(--& unfinished!) entry into the Wine Blog Wednesday thing...

http://vinomadic.blogspot.com/2007/10/wine-blogging-wednesday-38.html

wishing you the best always--

[Gabrio Tosti]

Ti sono vicino amico mio

[Terry Hughes]

Grazie, amici.

The end is very near for good old Seymour.

He exemplifies The Good Death. His concern for others is overwhelming, he thanks Ken ten times for some little kindness or assistance, he says, "The main thing is: make it easy for you."

He says to the very nice young woman who stays with him at night, "You're a treasure," and wants to make sure we get her good meals and pay her generously.

A rare person who's had a long and complex journey. He's an exemplar.

[Richard]

God Bless Seymour. By the way, I am son #3. You are #4.

Richard

[Terry Hughes]

My mistake! He indeed often says that.

"You should live and be well."

[Marco Romano]

Very touching tribute to someone whom I would loved to have met.

[David McDuff]

Lovely tribute, Terry. An exemplar as well... of caring, sharing and love, from the sound of it. My thoughts are with you and your adopted father.

[Terry Hughes]

Thanks for the comments, David and Marco. It's been a rough time. Even as he grows weaker and weaker, Seymour has kept his concern for others and good humor. And when you hold his hand he crushes yours. So he's not quite ready to let go.

[Russ Vandenbroucke]

Although I have not seen Seymour in nearly thirty years, I suddenly thought of him fifteen minutes ago, googled his name, and found this lovely entry. I then found his obitary in today's TIMES, sitting downstairs on a table though I didn't read its obituaries today. To everyone who knew Seymour, please accept my late but profound condolences. To his family, I can only add that I envy you having known him for decades, while I was in his orbit for only a few years.

I am flooded with warm memories of an extraordinary man old enough to be my father and our intense friendship for only the handful of years I lived near New York. We met in the balcony of City Center, standing and cheering raucusly at the end of a Joffrey concert. He turned to me simply and asked, "Care to go for dessert?" He took me to a favorite Little Italy bakery, the first of many times he showed me around HIS New York: walks across the Brooklyn Bridge, other ballet, plays, galleries,and concerts in Manhattan and Brooklyn. I remember accompanying him with one of his lady friends to see Pinter's CARETAKER and Nederlands Dans Theatre at BAM: the dancers spoke on stage! There was also an exhibit of his painting at a gallery and I was happy to help honor him that night simply by sharing the excitement. I never went to a dance class with him at Cunningham. I wish I had since my daughter ended up training there twenty years later!!!

I was living in Boston doing alternative service as a conscientious objector instead of being drafted (Vietnam era) when we met. He invited me to stay with him in Maplewood, which I did for the next few years when I visited New York to imbibe the art that fed me almost as it did Seymour. When I had a girlfriend, I brought her too. Seymour attended our wedding a few years later and gave us a gift far too generous. During years of graduate school in New Haven I saw him only rarely, close as I was to NY--there just wasn't time.

He loved life more intesely than any person I know. I'm not the least surprised he lived to 93. Precious as my memories are, I have something concrete as well: He insisted that I have one of his paintings. I chose a watercolor of the Brooklyn Bridge, which I treasure to this day. Now, I have even more reason to think--and thank--Seymour.

I know that I met Amy several times--she might have been finishing college at the time. I probably met his sons at the opening for his paintings. I hope someone will forward this note to them. I would be happy to have addresses to write them in a more personal way.

With heavy heart, but happy memories of a dear friend,

Russ Vandenbroucke

[Terry Hughes]

Thank you for this, Russ. Amy's husband reads the blog often and so does Ken, my partner.

We miss Seymour. But you know, as long as you keep someone alive in your heart, they're not dead merely absent.